by Mona Marple
“She wants the same things she ever did.” Sandy said without a pause. She knew her friend’s deepest hopes better than Cass herself probably did.
“She used to want me.”
“She used to have you, and you had your chance. Don’t you dare start thinking you’re the only one who can make her happy, settle down with her. She’s an amazing woman.”
“I know that better than anyone.” Bomber said.
Tanya appeared at their table, her long dark hair hanging in a plait over one shoulder. “Are you guys needing drinks?”
“No.” Sandy said.
“Yeah, cider and black for me. Sand, have a drink with me.”
“Mocha?” Tanya asked.
Sandy nodded reluctantly.
“The thing is, I know how amazing she is, Sand. I know what it’s like to lose her.”
“You know what she was like as a teenager. Like you said, things change.”
Bomber nodded. “I know that, alright? That’s my whole point. It’s not about pretending to listen in class anymore, it’s all serious now.”
“Are you in trouble, Tommy?”
The use of his real name made the colour drain from his face. “Nah, course not.”
“I don’t believe you.” Sandy said.
He shrugged, maintaining eye contact.
“You just happened to be at a point in your life where you could drop everything and come back here to try and woo Cass?”
“She’s that important to me.” Bomber explained. “And you, Sand. I wanted to lay the old ghosts to rest.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“Well, I need to wear you down and show you I’m not bad news.”
“You were never bad news.” Sandy admitted. “You just made a stupid mistake. But you know what they say, fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.”
“Yeah.” Bomber said with a sigh. “I don’t blame you. But you can’t blame me for trying. I don’t know if me and Cass could have a chance, but I’d like to find out. And I’d like to sit on the swings with you again some day, see who can reach the sky first.”
Sandy let out a small laugh. “You remember that?”
“Course I do.” He said with a smile, and Sandy couldn’t help but return it. Even as a friend, even as a friend she had never been attracted to (despite all of the girls in Year 11 fancying him), a friend she had never coveted as more than a friend, even as a friend, to be under his spell, his attention, it was captivating. Addictive.
To her surprise, Sandy reached her arm out across the table and held out her hand for him to shake. “Here’s to a second chance… as long as you’re completely honest with both of us this time.”
Bomber grinned, a natural, unrehearsed grin that made his eyes sparkle. He pretended to spit on his hand and then clasped his hand in hers, shaking up and down, up and down, until Tanya appeared with drinks.
“So, my old buddy, what have I missed?” Bomber asked, and the opportunity to be the recipient of that gaze for a while longer was too tempting to refuse.
Sandy told him everything.
How rocky things had been for a time at Books and Bakes, how well business was going now, how proud she was of Cass for beginning LA Nails, how proud she was of Cass for taking in Olivia. She told him how much she still missed her parents, how Coral was a liability in the kitchen at work but a magician on the till. She told him about The Cat, probably in too much detail, but he remained intent, laughing at the right places and cooing over the photographs she showed him on her phone. She told him about how the weather never improved in Waterfell Tweed and how she really must book a summer holiday in the sun. She told him random, unconnected pieces of news from the last decade, helping him remember who some of the people involved were - you know, she used to have a Yorkshire Terrier and always had that purple stripe in her hair!
When she realised the sky outside had grown dark, she grew self-conscious and apologised for talking at him for so long.
Bomber laughed it off. “I’ve missed your yacking!”
“And you?” Sandy asked, high with the thrill of catching up, bonding again. Eager to sit back and listen to his own long-winded, rambling, nonsensical update. “Tell me everything!”
Bomber shifted in his sheet and let out a small cough. “Just the normal, you know. Nothing much to tell. Great to catch up, though. I’d better get going.”
And with that, he stood and left.
Sandy felt the bottom fall out of her stomach, an empty sensation taking over her body.
He’d done it again.
Sucked her in. Entranced her.
She shook her head, annoyed with herself more than him.
“These all done?” Tanya asked, collecting the empty pint glass and half-empty, cold, mug of mocha that Sandy had been too busy talking to drink.
“Yeah… thanks, Tanya.”
“He’s a bit of alright.” Tanya said. “He’s been around a bit last few days. Friend?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Sandy said. “And he’s bad news. Don’t get any ideas.”
“Oh.” Tanya said, giving a conspirational wink. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“Actually, I wanted to ask something but Tom’s not around is he? Did Gurdip come in the night before he was killed?”
“He did.” Tanya said. “I was on my own - Tom had gone to some meeting for all the local publicans. Rushed off my feet, I was.”
“I see.” Sandy said, relieved that Tom hadn’t kept the information from her.
At least there was one man in her life she could trust.
9
“Ugh, I hope you’ve got some paracetamol in here.” Coral moaned as she rummaged through Sandy’s handbag.
The noise in Books and Bakes was raucous, fueled by children who had waited quite long enough and weren’t happy about it.
Sandy glanced at her watch again.
“She should just tell you if she can’t fit this into her busy schedule any more.” Coral said, voicing Sandy’s own thoughts with a little less tact.
“It’s so unlike her though, she’s usually bang on time.” Sandy said.
It was clear that Penelope Harlow was not coming.
“Fancy doing it?” Sandy asked Coral, who winced at the idea.
“What are my options here?”
“Well, if I do it, you’ll have to manage all the drinks on your own.”
“Ugh.” Coral moaned. “I’ve got a better chance of surviving down there with the kids. Fine. But I don’t want to do this regularly Sandy, so speak to Penelope and find out what’s happening.”
“I will.” Sandy promised. “And thank you.”
“Right, boys and girls! It’s a treat today, you’ve got me!” Coral announced as she removed her apron and walked through the seating area to the back of the cafe, where bean bags had been spread around. A group of hyperactive children bounced around from bean bag to bean bag, until Coral shushed them all and allowed them to choose from two books.
The story time group was a huge draw for Books and Bakes, attracting lots of the villagers but also people from neighbouring villages, where the meagre facilities on offer all closed down over the weekend. The children were amused while the parents without fail ordered drinks and cakes to enjoy.
“She not turned up again?” Bernice asked, poking her head out from the kitchen at the sound of Coral’s voice leading the group.
Sandy shook her head.
“I hope everything’s okay.” Bernice said, eyebrows furrowed.
“Me too.” Sandy said.
**
Sandy locked up on time, pulling her yellow mac on and braving the elements. There was a bitter wind howling through the village, and she pulled the zipper up to her chin and pulled the hood up over her head, then crossed the village square and walked past the little church.
She wondered how Olivia was doing in her work there and scolded herself for not sending her a good luck card.
After the
church, she cut up the path that led into the grounds of Waterfell Manor, the stately home where Penelope and Benedict Harlow lived with their son Sebastian. The grounds were open to the public, and were a favourite choice of visiting walkers as well as the locals, who all carried a deep curiosity about the lives of the other half, the wealthy aristocrats who lived in the Manor.
The Harlow family were as down to earth as anyone living in an inherited 100-acre stately home could be, and Sandy wasn’t surprised to see Benedict himself out walking, head protected under a deerstalker hat.
“Hallo, Sandy!” He called into the wind, his face red from the elements.
“Benedict, nice day for it.” Sandy replied, having to shout to make herself heard. “No Penelope today?”
“Indoors making game pie, Lord have mercy!” Benedict called, or at least that’s what it sounded like. The Harlows had staff, including a cook, so Sandy wondered if she had misheard. “Hoping if I get lost out here, dinner will be in the dog as they say!”
Sandy laughed. Benedict was charming. Self-aware enough to recognise how people may view him, humble enough to win over even the deepest skeptics with his complete devotion to Waterfell Tweed and interest in all of its inhabitants.
Years before, he had chanced upon a villager in the pub, who had, after a few too many pints, loudly interrogated Benedict about his wealth and the unfairness of it all. The man’s car had just been written off, and he didn’t have money to repair it, meaning he would have to cycle the 22 miles to work every day and night for the foreseeable future.
Benedict had listened patiently to the man’s rant, shaking his head at the then-landlord’s offer to intervene and throw the drunk out.
“No car, you say? Well, take mine, old boy.” Benedict had said when the man paused for a sip of his ale, and handed across the keys to his own Range Rover.
The villager had used the car for months, until he had saved enough for his own to be repaired, and had returned it to Benedict in better condition than he’d received it in, transformed into the man’s biggest fan.
Sandy smiled at the memory.
“Fancy joining us?” Benedict asked now, and Sandy wondered how tiring it must be, to be switched on, serving a public (even just a local public) constantly. Although, she then corrected herself, she didn’t truly believe that Benedict saw it that way at all. Shame on her.
“I can’t tonight, but thank you.” Sandy said. “Give Penelope my love.”
“Shall do.” Benedict said, making a mock salute as if receiving orders. He strode on, heading back up the hill towards the big house.
He seemed to have absolutely no idea that Penelope had failed to attend the story time session. How curious.
**
Cass opened the door after a few seconds, her hair stacked on top of her head in a beehive, cheeks contoured. Her eyebrows were only part hair, others tattooed on, and her lips looked fuller than they had the week before.
“Wow.” Sandy said as she walked in. “Look at you. Are you going out?”
“Oh no!” Cass said with a laugh, instinctively reaching for her face and placing a finger on her inflated lips. “Not been in from work long. Have to look the part.”
“She’s making an extra effort since Bomber’s in town.” Olivia called. She was lying on the settee, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her slim stomach, the remote control in her hand.
“I am not!” Cass exclaimed, but her cheeks flushed, even through her make-up.
“How’s work going?” Sandy asked Olivia, wanting to avoid the subject of Bomber.
Olivia gave a dramatic groan. “It’s exhausting.”
“Really? What’s he got you doing over there?”
Cass rolled her eyes. “She’s just not used to hard work.”
“Don’t listen to her, Auntie Sandy. I’m at school all day, then at work, it’s really hard. I am enjoying it, though.”
“Well, that’s good. Make sure you’re keeping up with your schoolwork though, okay?”
“On that note, you’ve got homework, remember.” Cass said, then looked at Sandy. “Drink?”
“I’m okay thanks, I just wanted to pop in and see the working girl.”
“Well, you’ve seen her. She’s here all week, glued to the settee as you can see.”
“I’m exhausted!” Olivia repeated.
Sandy smiled at their interaction.
Cass handed her a mug of mocha, which Sandy accepted with amusement. “Erm, thanks, I think I said no though? And I’ve got to ask, are your lips new?”
Cass beamed, the smile transforming her face. “Do ya like them? They’re not too big, are they?”
Sandy inspected her friend’s face. The plump lips were subtle, perhaps, but Sandy knew that face so well, knew what it looked like naturally beneath the make-up and beauty treatments. “No, they’re not too big. What have you done, though? Is that botox?”
“No!” Cass exclaimed, using the same high-pitched tone she had used with Sandy when they were teenagers and Sandy had thought that eyeliner was lipliner for goths. “It’s just a little filler. I went to a beauty show the other day and they’d got all these treatments you could try. I’ve always fancied giving my lips a bit more, ya know, oomph. Mine are so pathetic.”
“You’ve got lovely lips.” Sandy insisted, although she knew that out of the two of them her own lips had the better natural shape, the bee-stung look that her friend had always envied. Out of all of her face, her lips were probably the most neglected area. She never wore lipstick. In fact, the only time she applied anything to her lips was in the thick of winter when they grew chapped and sore. Then she’d apply a chapstick throughout the day hungrily, desperate for some moisture to seep in and soothe the pain. When they healed, she promptly forgot all about her lips for another 12 months, whereas Cass had a drawer just for lipsticks, mountains of them that all looked the same colour, and a smaller mountain of bright and garish colours.
In fact, Sandy realised, there was every chance she had noticed her friend’s lips tonight because they were bare, not because they were any larger. She wouldn’t tell Cass that.
“How’s the investigation coming along? I heard everyone thinks it’s some mad old farmer.”
“Victor Dent. Know him?” Sandy asked.
“Oh, yeah, I’m always hanging out with the farmers.” Cass said with a wink.
Sandy laughed. “I met him, he’s pretty protective of his land.”
“No crime in that, surely?” Cass said.
“I need to know more.” Sandy said, the cogs in her mind turning as she took a sip of the mocha she hadn’t wanted until she’d seen, and smelt, it. “And then I’ve got Penelope acting all strange.”
“Strange? How?”
“She didn’t turn up for story time again today.”
“That is strange.” Cass admitted. Some people were scatty, unreliable, but the Harlows took their commitments to Waterfell Tweed seriously. It wasn’t a light agreement to Penelope, or at least Sandy hadn’t considered it to be until recently.
“I know. I’m worried about her.”
“Oh, don’t be, she’ll be fine. You know Penelope, stiff upper lip and all that.”
Sandy smiled, but the unease in her stomach didn’t settle.
“You’re due your next eyebrow appointment, you know.” Cass said, with a pointed look.
“They’re still tidy.” Sandy objected. She was in no rush to put herself through the pain of waxing again.
“That’s the time to get it done, before they’re out of control.” Cass explained with a grin. Her own eyebrows never had a single hair out of place. She knew that Cass plucked them daily, looking in the mirror each morning and pulling out any single hairs that weren’t quite where they should be. Sandy shuddered at the thought of putting herself through that pain each day. “Pop in tomorrow, I’ll fit you in.”
“Can I have mine done too?” Olivia called from the settee.
“Noooooo.” Cass drawled. “I’ve alr
eady told you, you’re too young.”
Olivia sighed and pushed her body off the settee, walking over to join them. “I’ll go and do my homework then since I’m just a kid.”
“Okay.” Cass said with a smile, amused by Olivia’s attempt at being a stroppy teenager.
Olivia planted a kiss on Sandy’s cheek and left them to it, taking the stairs two at a time to her bedroom.
“Sit?” Cass suggested now the settee was empty.
“I’m gonna get going, but thanks for the drink. There’s something I need to do before it gets dark.”
Cass pulled her in for a hug but didn’t ask where she was going. Her mind, just like her hair and her new lips, was distracted by something. And Sandy knew exactly who that was.
10
“If I die tonight, don’t be mad at me.” Sandy whispered. “You know what I’m like, I just can’t keep my nose out. And I’ve got a hunch. So, please don’t be too mad. I love you.”
She hung up the phone, knowing how furious Tom would be when he heard the voicemail, and tucked it into the pocket of her yellow mac.
It was a clear evening, the sun still high in the sky, and the quiet was serene. As Sandy got out of the car, closing her door with as much force as she could to signal her arrival, she was struck by the silence, interrupted only by the bleating of sheep, a secret conversation from ewe to ewe, about her perhaps. Raising the alarm. Although the sheep seemed far too interested in their grazing to be concerned by her.
The ledge stood ahead of her, Black Rock, not a kissing couple in sight. Transformed from a spot to visit in secret, to a place to avoid.
Sandy wasn’t heading there tonight, though.
She climbed the sty and followed the public footpath, the ground firm and solid beneath her, recovered from the storm.
The farmhouse stood ahead of her, off the path of course, and she tried to walk with a stomp, to cough regularly, to do all she could to allow Victor Dent to hear her coming. She had a feeling that if her presence was announced by a knock on his door, it would be very bad for her.